


My Home

by Harry1981



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cabbage Patch Hobbits, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Everyone's dead but things get better okay?, F/M, Frodo is Bilbo and Thorin's Child, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Letters, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Lord of the Rings, Sort Of, The Valar, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harry1981/pseuds/Harry1981
Summary: When Frodo was a little faunt, he realized he was not like the other faunts. His feet were just a tad bit smaller than your average Hobbit. His ears weren’t quite as pointy as they should have been. His hair was too black.As his life moves on, he lives. And learns. And looks for a home, for peace.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 206





	My Home

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is a drabble. Just me channeling my inner happy ending. Have fun :)

When Frodo was a little faunt, he realized that he wasn’t like other fauntlings who would play in the fields over his smial. There were some very obvious signs for those who knew where to look, and Frodo did.

His feet were just a tad bit smaller than your average Hobbit. His ears weren’t quite as pointy as they should have been. His hair was too black- even the Tooks had dark brown hair at the most. Furthermore, his parents would never allow him to go out and play. If he went out, he would have to sneak out unseen, like his Uncle Bilbo.

Uncle Bilbo was the eccentric Uncle that visited Frodo every few months. He had always had new tales of adventures, of trolls and goblins and elves and men. Never of dwarves though, they were always the same. A trip, from the beautiful Bag End to the majestic Erebor. No matter how much Frodo prodded and poked, Uncle Bilbo would never tell him the end of that particular tale.

When Frodo came of age, a whole of 33 years, his parents sat him down and finally explained why he was so different.

“You are not our blood son, boy,” Drogo explained as he patted Frodo’s curls, “Nor are you Earthborn. It’s Took magic, you see.”

“You have two fathers, Frodo,” explained Primula, smiling gently, “And not both are Hobbits. We wanted to protect you. Now that the evil is gone, you can finally go out.”

“Everyone knows that Primula and I cannot quite have our fauntlings, so no one would say a word if you came out. But you have to be quiet, all right?”

Frodo was confused, but he nodded nevertheless. One question kept brimming up in his heart though- who were his fathers?

But he never asked, and the Baggins never told.

* * *

Frodo was still young when Primula and Drogo drowned in the river. He was not with them- he had gone off to play with a few newly formed friends in Buckland.

News travelled fast, but by the time any Hobbit reached the shore, the deed was done.

Frodo could not recollect those days very well. He remembered his parents being buried and him being carted away to the great Smial.

What followed were some of the scariest months of Frodo’s life. He did not remember a house other than his parents’. The Tooks were a rowdy bunch. Frodo knew no one, except the fact that they were family. But he did not feel like they were family.

It was then that Uncle Bilbo came back.

Frodo all but ran to him, clinging on to the travelling cloak that hung loosely on his shoulders. He buried his face in Bilbo’s necks and cried. He cried as Uncle Bilbo ran a hand through his curls, humming a song to calm him down. He sat there, in the living room, for hours as Frodo refused to let go.

When the night fell, and Tooks gathered around to call him for dinner, Bilbo said, “I will take him.”

“But Bilbo, you go off on adventures every few months. The boy can’t have that now, can he?”

“So I won’t go on adventures!” Bilbo proclaimed loudly, “But Frodo is coming with me.”

And so, Frodo Baggins came to live in Bag End in Hobbiton.

* * *

Bilbo said Frodo’s heart was set in the Shire. Frodo said his heart was set in his home.

No matter how many days passed, Frodo could never get over his home. The rolling green hills of Shire, the huge Party Tree in the field, the laughter in the Green Dragon, the barrels of ale in the pub.

The smell of Spring and Summer, the taste of Bilbo’s tomatoes. The cold winter night in Bag End, curled around the fireplace as Bilbo told a tale. The moist soil under his toes every monsoon.

Sam’s excitement over his plants. Merry and Pippin’s tricks whenever they would be around. Even Aunt Lobelia’s sneering gaze.

Frodo also knew that his Uncle longed for something else. As his 111th birthday came close, Frodo watched Bilbo pour over old maps, muttering about passes and roads still navigable. He would mutter things like ‘Erebor’ and ‘Lake-Town’ under his breath, chuckling at a joke he shared with himself.

He wasn’t a bad guardian. Never, thought Frodo. Bilbo was a strict yet loving guardian, joking with him and teaching him all that was to be taught. He would let young Frodo curl around him and respect him whenever he needed to be alone. When he began to make plans, Frodo knew he was going to see the last of Bilbo for a while.

So Frodo tried to spend more time with him. To talk to Bilbo, to tell him, to be with him. But the more Frodo pushed, the more he went inside his shell.

After a while, all Frodo could do was watch.

* * *

Three dwarves came for Bilbo’s 111th birthday, out of the thirteen he used to talk about. They looked at Frodo when he opened the door, staring with their mouth open.

“Bofur! Bifur! Nori!”

The three laughed and hugged their good friend, and Frodo smiled. He excused himself to make something for the three guests, but he could feel the stare of the red-headed dwarf on his back.

Later, after dinner, when tales were told and stories were exchanged, Frodo faked a yawn and pretended to leave. Once he was away from the sight of the three dwarves and one hobbit, Frodo leaned to hear their talk.

After a long while, Bifur spoke up. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

He did not hear Bilbo speak up, but by the sighs, he could guess Bilbo had nodded.

“Why did you never tell us?” said the one with the funny hat, “If we had known-”

“If you had known then what?” asked Bilbo, rather angrily. Frodo was taken aback at the tone. “Balin knew, and by the extent, Dwalin did too. We agreed that it was best that Dain get the throne and I- I get back to the Shire. Azog was gone, but his spawns remained. If they knew...He would have met the same fate as the Durins.”

Silence reigned, broken only by hums and sighs. Finally, Nori asked, “The lad doesn’t know, does he?”

“I don’t know what Primula and Drogo told him, but he knows of nothing from me.”

“Will he?”

“Yes. Someday.”

* * *

Bilbo disappeared while the party was going on. Frodo had to handle everything. By the time he reached home, Bilbo had left, along with his dwarf friends, leaving behind Gandalf, a will and his ring.

Though Frodo had, in a deep part of his heart, known that Bilbo was going to leave, it still hurt that he would not tell Frodo. A part of him wondered if he had had that longing for years, and perhaps Frodo was the only one who had held him back.

It was probably true, but Frodo forced himself to not dwell on it.

Soon enough, bigger problems rose on the horizon. Ring of power, him being in possession of the said ring, a journey to Rivendell.

Frodo would rather forget all that had happened.

But then, after ages, he found Bilbo. On a bench, in the city of Imraldis, his hair greyer than Frodo had ever seen. The book he had been writing, almost finished.

“I meant to go back,” he said, “wander the paths of Mirkwood, visit Lake-Town, see the Lonely mountain again.”

Frodo looked as Bilbo sat down beside him, his knees wobbly, his hands wrinkled and grey, his hair white, “But age, it seems, has finally caught up with me.”

When Frodo confessed his own fears, Bilbo just smiled and gently caressed his face. “My dear boy.”

* * *

When it came to taking the Ring, somehow, Frodo knew it was his decision. He had to be the one to do it. Would he be able to do it?

That was a question left to be answered.

Bilbo gave him his sword, the Sting, and mithril shirt was given to him by King Thorin. The Ring almost ensnared him, but then he had broken down, and Frodo felt a part of him broke as well.

“I am sorry I brought this upon you, my boy. I am sorry you must carry this burden. I am sorry for everything.”

Bilbo cried, and Frodo held him. But as the night passed, Frodo wondered what ‘everything’ truly was.

* * *

The journey of the Fellowship was not something that Frodo ever truly wanted to relive. He went to the furthest depths and came back up, and yet Frodo felt a part of him lost; forever gone from the world.

But the Ring came to be destroyed, and Frodo could not be gladder. Aragorn was crowned King, and Legolas and Gimli parted ways with them to return to their home. When the time came, the four Hobbits mounted their own ponies and took off for the Shire.

But they all stopped in Rivendell, yet again, to visit an old Bilbo. They shared many good moments, but as they were to be parted again, Frodo gave him his book and said, “Read it.”

* * *

_My Dear Frodo,_

_You asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures. And while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it._

_I am old now, Frodo, I’m not the same Hobbit I once was. I think it is time for you to know what really happened._

_It began long ago, in a land far away to the east, the like of which you will not find in the world today._

_There was the city of Dale. Its markets known far and wide. Full of the bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful and Prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-Earth: Erebor. Stronghold of Thror, King under the Mountain, Mightiest of the Dwarf Lords. Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and his grandson._

_Ah, Frodo, Erebor. Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress city was legend....._

_...you would remember Thorin Oakenshield as the King in exile. He was that for everyone. Men, Dwarves and Elves knew of his valour, of his bravery. But none saw him for what he really was. A broken dwarf. Someone who was just trying to gather the last remnants of his life..._

_...the hug at the Carrock changed us both. He grew warmer, and I grew bolder. I still remember the night I confessed my feelings for him. Oh, Frodo, how he had smiled. I can still see it sometimes..._

_...I picked the acorn for a simple purpose, but as we journeyed, the acorn became so much more. We talked about it in lake Town, finally. Thorin sat beside me, his arms wrapped around my shoulders. Fili and Kili, oh those boys, they sat at our feet. When I told Thorin of how we grew the children, his eyes lit up. He wanted it, as much as I did._

_Fili and Kili, of course, were far too excitable. A younger cousin was a glorious idea. Kili was done being the youngest Durin, even though Gimli remained._

_Ah Frodo, they would have loved you..._

_...even in his madness, Thorin loved me. He gave me the mithril shirt, which one day shall go to you. Everyone knew that it was a courting gift from his side. It broke my heart, for then he trusted no one but me, and in the end, it was I who shall break that trust..._

_...Ravenhill continues to be the worst memory I had. I watched Fili, that poor boy, fall to his death. I never saw Kili, not long after he was gone. But Thorin. I stayed with him. He asked me, to plant the acorn. In those last moments, all he wanted was for me to be happy..._

_...You came out of the soil on my birthday. I thanked the Valar, and Thorin, for he must have given me that gift. But you looked so much like him. It pained me to give you to Drogo and Primula, my boy, but I knew that I could never be the father you deserved. The spawn of Azog still roamed, and if they knew that a Durin remained, they would not have hesitated..._

_...I never regret having you Frodo. You have been the best thing in my life. Thorin would have adored you, oh. Your cousins spoiling you. You deserved the life of a prince, but the calmness of Shire was the one for you. The only thing I ever regret, my boy, is passing on that ring to you..._

* * *

When Elrond reached out to him with the offer fo sailing away, Frodo did not even think twice. He gave everything to the Gamgees and met the Elves and Bilbo at the shore.

After goodbyes, when they sat on the ship, Bilbo reading his armchair, Frodo couldn’t help but ask, “Why did you not tell me before?”

Bilbo slowly pulled down the book, looking at Frodo with a sad smile, “You were happy. I knew not what Primula and Drogo had told you. In all honesty, they were more parents to you than I ever was.”

Frodo snorted, “You still raised me up for a good while. The ages, they always troubled me, but somehow I never thought that it could be what it came to be.”

Leaning forward, Bilbo patted Frodo’s hand. “You have always been a very good boy. I am very sorry it has come to this.”

“Do not apologize, Bilbo.”

* * *

As the ship moved on, Frodo could see Bilbo’s health coming back. The wrinkles disappeared, his hair reverting back to their original colour. He could walk more freely, and on days Frodo and Bilbo would sit and share a pipe. On those days, Frodo could see the Uncle he had seen for so long. The one he had loved so dearly.

They reached the shore after a long time- though when Frodo did not know. He was looking forward to a peaceful life, perhaps with a small garden, some books.

He had not counted on stubborn dwarves.

* * *

“And how exactly did you all come to Valinor?”

The dwarf was half Gandalf’s size, but his glare was intimidating enough. He crossed his arms and glared, and the two dwarves behind him did the same.

“It’s no matter to you, wizard,” Thorin Oakenshield said, not with anger, but mere irritation, “I am here to see my One.”

“And our cousin!” the blonde one added instantly.

Gandalf sighed, looking back at Bilbo. The said Hobbit looked exactly the same he did on the day he had left bag End for his adventure. The smile on his face was mischievous at best, and Frodo could not help but smile.

“these are your dwarrows,” Gandalf said, pointing his finger at Bilbo.

“of course they are,” Bilbo said with a smile, “Now scoot, you old wizard. I have some people to meet.”

Gandalf huffed, “No respect for me, I see. Well then, I shall leave you to your reconciliation and go meet lady Galadriel.”

Frodo watched Gandalf go with an amused smile. But before he could revel at the moment, two bodies were wrapped around him, shouting “Cousin!”

As Frodo laughed, ages after, he looked over the shoulder of Fili and Kili to see Bilbo and Thorin share an embrace and a kiss.

* * *

Frodo’s life ended up being what he had never imagined it to be. His life was made of travelling, of adventures, but never the harmful ones. Two weeks, he would sit in Yavannah’s garden, sharing a pipe with his ancestors and parents, Primula and Drogo, and laughing about adventures. When Sam, Merry and Pippin joined the fray, it got even more chaotic.

Once in a while, he would journey to meet with Elves, spend some time in peace in the vast libraries. He would share deep conversations with Elrond and Galadriel, play pranks on Gandalf along with Elrond’s sons, enjoy the nightly music and eventually leave with a promise to revisit.

The days he enjoyed most, however, had to be the days he spent in the Halls of Mahal. Bilbo spent most of his days there, only visiting yavannah’s garden once in a while. So when Frodo entered Mahals’ Halls, there was always a routine.

He would first greet Mahal himself, with a deep bow. The Smith would look at him, huff and ask about his craft. Frodo would shrug, say he was still exploring and Mahal would go back to his work.

As the door of the halls would open, he would come face to face with Fili and Kili, who somehow always knew when he was coming. They would all but swoop him off his feet, dangling Frodo like a babe all the way to the dining room, and would only stop when Dis would ask them to.

Then, he would meet his extended family. Thror would huff, but pat his head like he was a rabbit. Frodo honestly did not mind. Thror’s wife, Freya, would laugh and pinch his cheeks, which always left the red. His grandparents, thrain and Fris, would pat him and ask him about Yavannah’s garden. Both loved travelling and would love to visit the garden if they were allowed.

Next came Frerin, who somehow ended up becoming Frodo’s best friend in the Halls, much to Fili and Kili’s pouts. They would play pranks on the brothers, and there were always prank wars going around. Dis would shake her head, but she and Vili would always invite him over for dinner in their humble abode.

Once done with the family, Frodo would ks his leave. He would make his way across the Halls, barefoot, to the office. There he wouldn’t knock, but enter directly.

Thorin would look over from whatever book he was reading and smile. He would get up and bring Frodo in a bone-crushing hug. It was the warmest he ever felt, over and over again. The two would talk, and Thorin would ask after him. As they talked, they would move to the kitchen where Bilbo would be cooking or baking.

Bilbo would litter Frodo’s head with kisses before getting him to sit down. He would all but force Thorin and him to eat, even though there was no need to in the Halls, and then demand for the news from all over Valinor.

And when night came, and the Dwarves of Durin’s line and the Company would gather in the hall, singing, dancing, laughing, Frodo would rest his head on Thorin’s shoulder, his legs propped into Bilbo’s lap and smile.


End file.
